Not a Happy Ending
by waytoomanyfandoms
Summary: Charlotte, a self-taught artist who is living on the streets, sneaks into the Paris Opera House, and finds a secret passage way that leads her straight to the Phantom of the Opera. Let's hope there's a happy ending to this..
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: Hey guys! Guess who's back! So i've decided to create another POTO fanfiction. Just so you guys know, (so far) I do NOT plan on having Christine Daae in this fanfic. I'm actually not sure when this is supposed to take place in relation to POTO but i'll probably figure it out later. Anyways, this is just a test chapter. It's pretty shitty and for those of you who have read Mirrors, you'll notice the writing style is a LOT different! I was trying to make sure that Charlotte and Isabelle weren't exactly the same, so I switched things up a bit. But don't worry, the writing will hopefully get better with the chapters! Anyways, enjoy! Please tell me what you think!**

 **I do not own POTO or any of the characters. I only own Charlotte and Destin (and any other future OC's).**

Nearly tripping over my dilapidated boots, I made a sharp turn around the corner of a library.

"Come back here!" The angry accent of the baker bellowed at me as I continued to run and giggle, the small warm loaf of bread tucked under my arm.

Becoming tired, I decided that I should stop this game of cat and mouse as I dove into a small alleyway, just out of the baker's sight. Trying to control my panting breaths, I peered through the narrow parting of the two buildings to see the baker standing on the cobblestone road, gripping his chubby knees while he too gasped for air. He looked around the area once more, his face dripping a pasty mixture of sweat and flour, but became disappointed when he found no one.

" _Merde!"_ He shouted loudly enough for the nearby mother to give him a scolding look as she walked her child in the opposite direction.

I slowly slid down the rough brick wall, my knees almost up to my chest due to the narrowness of the buildings. I was glad that I didn't own a corset. If I had, I would have passed out six blocks ago.

"Charlotte!" I heard a voice say triumphantly as I nearly jumped from my skin.

A scrawny boy with curly chocolate hair stood, blocking the beaming sun's harsh rays from my eyes.

"What now, Destin?" I replied playfully as I began to stand up, sliding the bread into the cloth bag that swung from my shoulder.

"I've been looking all over for you! Where've you been?" He asked, looking me over. However, it only took that one look for him to know. "Did you steal again?" He said just above a whisper.

I looked down at the frayed ends of my skirt, which seemed to be enough of an answer for him.

" _Charlotte!"_ He said sternly, like a parent scolding a child.

" _Destin!"_ I replied mockingly.

Destin rolled his eyes, and then took me by the shoulders, something he often did when he tried to give me serious speeches. "You know you can always just ask me for anything."

I only shrugged then continued to walk in a random direction. Destin sighed, waiting a moment before jogging to catch up with my quick pace.

He knew how I felt about borrowing from him. He wasn't rich himself. In fact, he was actually quite poor, but he liked to pretend the opposite by offering me everything he owned on a daily basis. Really, he meant no harm, but I felt horribly guilty every time I used something of his. Besides, I was fine with my life. I didn't need anything else to complete it.

"Where are you sleeping tonight?" He asked me after a moment of silence.

Once again, I replied with a simple shrug, truly not knowing the answer. It changed each night. Sometimes it would be an alleyway. Other times it was behind a building or on a bench. I didn't mind though. It was only in the wintertime that I could sometimes hardly mind the cold. Those were the days that I would allow myself a single night on Destin's floor (he would offer me his bed, but I would politely refuse).

"Come on Charlotte, it could be fun! I have wine." He said with a goofy grin. I smiled at the thought. Maybe one night wouldn't hurt.

"Alright, fine. But, you have to take the bed."

 **A/N: Ight, so this chapter was kinda bad in relation to content. I tried to make it somewhat interesting but it's kind of hard making introductions interesting. I just wanted to get you guys introduced to Charlotte and Destin. So what do you guys think of them so far? I know, there's not much to work off of, but i'll hopefully get more chapters up soon! Thanks for reading guys!  
Don't forget to favourite, follow, and review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Okay, the writing is MUCH better in this chapter (thank god). I hope you enjoy! Don't forget to favourite, follow, and review! I'd love to hear what you think of the story so far! (even though there are only 2 chapters)**

It was a rather warm Friday afternoon. I had just come from the butcher's shop, where Destin worked. The job hardly seemed suiting for his over-friendly personality, but it was the only work that seemed to be available.

I wandered through Paris for a while, not having a particular agenda. That was what I liked about being homeless. No, I didn't enjoy the constant scowls I received from every other person, or the hard grounds that I slept on, it was the fact that I was _free._ There was no job to chain me down, no bills, and no responsibility. I know it sounds juvenile, but I liked it. Paris was my playground.

I walked until my feet ached in the cramped space of my boots, and so I found a small wooden bench nicely situated on the sidewalk across the street from the Paris Opera house.

I reached into the cloth bag I had had for as long as I knew, and pulled out the crumbling sketchbook from under my scarf that rested, coiled like a snake, at the top. The sketchbook was almost identical to the one that I kept a few more layers down. That one was my mother's sketchbook. My talent had come from her. I always remembered as a young child, peering over my mother's shoulder to catch a glimpse at her latest sketch. She would then catch me peeking, and then hunch over further over her drawing so I couldn't see. "You can't see it yet! It's not finished!" She would giggle. She didn't always shield her drawing process from me though; she often liked to try to teach me. She showed me how it was okay to make mistakes in the drawings, as long as I tried to make something of it. A line accidently drawn across a person's face became a tree branch they were hiding behind. A misshapen petal became a butterfly's wing as it landed on the daisy.

I sighed at the memories, a soft smile on my lips, as I began to draw in my own sketchbook. Looking up at the opera house for reference, I continued to draw the outline. Turning the pencil to the side, I was able to add shading at the base, and by pointing it on its tip, I carved tiny details into the statues that formed around the windows.

I did not stand to move away from the bench until I considered the drawing to be complete. As I started to walk away from the opera house, a thought came to mind. _What does it look like on the inside?_ A smirk grew on my lips as I quickly turned around again, and sprinted across the street, dodging the oncoming carriages and people.

All one had to do to sneak into a place, was to act like they belonged. So, I lifted my chin up, adjusted my skirt, and marched confidently into the opera house. It also helped that no one was attending the doors to even notice me.

Automatically, I was thrown back in awe. The architecture, the statues, the marble, the gold, it was all overwhelmingly beautiful. I brushed my hand along the carvings that ran along the wall as I walked further into the building.

I stopped as I marveled at the grand staircase that lay before me. The building was art in itself. I would have to force Destin to come with me next time, even though he claimed to hate opera.

"Who let that street rat into this opera house?" A voice bellowed from behind me. As I turned around quickly, I found two men standing there, one with strangely shaped silver hair, and the other with brown hair. They looked rather obnoxious.

The silver haired man stomped over to me and grabbed my arm.

"I was just looking for a bathroom," I lied horribly.

"Go find one somewhere else! This is not a place for people like you!" The brown haired man said angrily.

Before I knew it, I was pushed out of the opera house, and I was tripping my way down the stairs as I tried to run after they closed the doors behind me.

I kept running until I found my way into the butcher's shop. Destin seemed to be handing a heavy brown paper bag to an older man, supposedly with some sort of meat in it.

"Destin!" I shouted, startling the old man as he took his paper bag, and exited the shop.

"Charlotte, you can't keep scaring away my customers." He said, giving me a teasing smile.

"Oh hush," I replied, "Listen, I went into the opera house and-" I was interrupted by a confused Destin.

"-You went into the _opera house?_ You shouldn't go in there. I don't trust those people." He said, furrowing his bushy eyebrows.

"They're not _that_ bad," I defended.

He gave me a look that said " _are you so sure about that?"_ and he let out a chuckle, "I bet."

"But, Destin, it was beautiful! You should have seen it! The architecture was phenomenal! Not to mention the paintings…" I trailed off as I started to play with my short messy red hair.

"No, the paintings?" Destin said mockingly. I gave him a friendly shove from across the counter that separated us.

"You just have no appreciation for art," I said, sticking my nose up and crossing my arms across my chest.

"And you have to much," he laughed. "But really, Charlotte, stay out of there."

"Why does it matter to you so much?"

"Because I don't want you to get hurt."

 **A/N: Destin, what'd you mean? Ah, so here's a better chapter! What do you like about the story so far? what don't you like? please just leave reviews!:D Thank you guys so much for reading!**

 **Don't forget to favourite, follow, and review!333**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Hey guys! Not really that happy with how this chapter turned out, but here is is! And yes, finally, we get to see Erik in this! Please don't forget to favourite, follow, and review! Thank you guys for reading!3**

"Charlotte!" I heard a familiar voice shout from across the street. From the wooden bench across from the Opera house, I saw Destin waving his gangly arms to try to catch my attention. I smiled and waved back as he started to jog across the street to meet me, two small pieces of parchment in his long fingers.

Noticing my gaze on the papers in his hands, he quickly made sure they were hidden behind this back, like a child hiding something from his mother.

"What do you have there, Destin?" I asked, trying to catch a glimpse to see what it was.

"So, you really do like this opera house, don't you?" He asked, turning his head to look up at the massive structure across the street. "It's a shame you got kicked out last time. I'm sure they would have understood if you had tickets." He said, mindlessly kicking a pebble with his shoe.

"Yeah." I said slowly and suspiciously, squinting my eyes at his strange behavior.

"Well it's a shame you didn't have any tickets," he started to pull the papers from behind his back, "except for now."

I quickly stood up and looked at the pieces of parchment in his hand. There they were, two tickets to an opera that I could hardly pronounce.

"Destin!" I shrieked, pulling him into a hug, causing him to laugh at my reaction.

"I thought you hated opera!" I said, pulling back from the hug, and examining the official-looking tickets once more.

"I do," he chuckled, "but apparently, you like it, so I guess I'll have no choice but to go with you to make sure you don't get into any trouble."

"Oh, Destin, thank you!" I shouted once more. "But what will I wear?" I thought out loud, looking down at my frayed and patched skirt.

Destin sighed, "I was going to wait until before the performance tonight, but I guess I can tell you that I've got that covered."

"But, Destin, this must have cost a fortune!"

"I had some money saved up, don't worry about it."

I gave Destin another tight hug, and together we walked to who-knows-where, giggling about attending an actual opera.

"I can hardly wait!" I said, jumping up and down in the cramped lobby of Destin's apartment. He was getting his mail, but only found a single letter that he quickly stuffed in the inner pocket of his jacket.

"I can tell," he teased.

Together, we walked up to his small studio apartment. His apartment was quite simple. There were only the necessities along with a few decorations on the wall. It was nothing special, yet comfortably simple.

As I walked into his apartment, I noticed a large bag resting on the chipped kitchen table.

Before I could touch the bag, Destin quickly ran to the opposite side of the table, and took the bag in his hands.

"Close your eyes," he smiled, getting ready to take whatever was in the bag out.

I did what I was told as I heard rustling coming from the bag. I already knew what it was, it was just the anticipation of what it would look like that made my stomach fill with butterflies.

"Open." He said.

I quickly opened my eyes, and let out a gasp as I laid eyes on a beautiful floor-length blue dress. The shade of blue reminded me of the river at night, and the dark puce that bordered the few extensions of fabric made a dark colored apple come to mind.

"It's beautiful, Destin," I breathed, holding up the dress myself. I don't believe I had ever worn a dress that was that fancy. No, it wasn't like the frilly and lacy patterns of the high status women that were married to rich officials, but it had a beautiful simplicity to it that simply reminded me of me.

"What are you waiting for?" Destin said excitedly, "Go put it on!"

I giggled as I ran to his small bathroom, and began to get changed. I was surprised to see that the dress was a perfect fit, and the deep blue made my red hair stand out perfectly. I braided my hair before I pulled it into a neat bun, becoming more and more excited as I watched myself transform.

Destin even clapped when he saw me dramatically emerge from the bathroom. He let out a laugh before saying "it's just like how you were always meant to be."

I practically dragged Destin into the opera house that night. I didn't care that I must have looked like a child dragging their parent through the slowly streaming crowd. Destin's thick eyebrows pushed upwards when he finally saw the interior of the opera house.

"Isn't it beautiful?" I said, just above a whisper as I too began to marvel at the sight once more.

"I have to admit, this is kind of worth being surrounded by snooty aristocrats and obnoxiously high pitched singing," he teased.

We eventually found our way to the theater, and found our seats, which were actually quite decent. We sat in the very middle of the floor seats, the magnificent chandelier hanging over our heads.

I kept giggling at the sight of the ridiculous hairstyles and dresses of some of the women in the theater, and Destin had to keep quieting me, knowing that I was probably being too loud. I couldn't help myself though, for the excitement of just being in this magnificent structure was almost overwhelming.

When the opera was over, Destin and I happily chatted about what we had seen, although I'm pretty sure Destin had fallen asleep about halfway through.

"I'm going to find a restroom alright? I'll meet you back here." I said to Destin in the lobby of the theater, but I think he knew what I was up to.

"Alright, just don't get lost." He said, leaning against one of the marble pillars.

I quickly skipped off to find "a restroom" but became lost quite quickly (which had been my original intent). I slowed down once I came across a narrow hallway that seemed to be empty. My footsteps echoed off the walls as I carried on. There didn't seem to be any doors in this hallway, only windows lining the left side of the wall. That's when I noticed one single door standing tall on the right side of the hall.

Looking behind me, I checked to make sure no one was following me. I then pressed my ear against the door to check if there was anyone on the other side of the strange door. Then, I pushed it open.

I had to admit, I was somewhat disappointed that it wasn't some mysterious library, or perhaps a large ballroom, but I was surprised to be greeted with a very brightly lit pink room.

It seemed to be a dressing room of some sort. To the side, there was a large table filled with different types of cosmetics and makeup. There were also many fainting couches and plush chairs. As I stepped further into the room, the sickly sweet perfume of the flowers that crowded every inch of the room flooded my nose. What really caught my attention though, was the large gold-framed mirror that lay directly across from the door.

I slowly made my way towards it, hoping that no one would walk into the room at the time. Before I knew it, I was standing nose to nose with myself as I gazed into the mirror. Something seemed off though. My mother had taught me a trick when I was a child. She always knew the best hiding places, and knew all about trap doors and hidden rooms. From her, I had learned the trick about two-way mirrors. Pressing my index finger to the glass, I smiled as I saw that my reflection touched my actual finger, an obvious sign that it was a two-way mirror. I scanned the frame of the mirror, hoping to find some sort of clue as to how it would open. What would be the point of having a two-way mirror if you could not open it? What was behind the mirror in the first place? Could it have been a hidden library? Or perhaps an office? There was only one way to find out.

Not seeing any handles anywhere on the frame or the glass, I decided that it must have been a sliding door. I pressed my hands against the glass, trying to get a firm grip on the smooth surface, and as I pushed to one side, I noticed the glass opening. I had to try to cover my mouth so I didn't yelp in excitement.

I was surprised, though, to not find a clean and manicured room, but instead a long and dark passage, dimly lit by very few candles. From what I could see, there were cobwebs lacing every crevice they could find, and rats running along the walls and burrowing into holes. I hardly let that phase me, though.

I bit my lip as I took a step over the golden frame and into the hallway. I just hoped that I wouldn't get my dress too dirty.

Clutching my bag (that I had insisted on bringing with me), I began walking down the tunnel-like hall. My footsteps echoed even more than they did against the marble floors, and the echo seemed to go deeper and deeper.

That's when I heard notes playing. I froze at the sudden sound, but continued to walk in the direction that it was coming from. When the music stopped though, so did I. But, I wouldn't stop for long, because the music would continue again. It seemed to continue to stop and start. The tune was absolutely lovely though. It was nothing like the loud and boisterous opera that I had just listened to. This was more calming and yet mysterious at the same time. I wondered who was playing it, and why they were playing it in the dark catacombs of the opera house.

I noticed a light getting brighter and brighter at the end of the hall. It was definitely candlelight, but who would have candles down here? The cold temperature grew warmer as I approached the light. I walked faster and faster towards the music and the light, until I came to a lake.

As I remained hidden behind a large wall of rock, I came to see a small murky lake, surrounded by candles. On the lake, rested a boat that seemed to be decorated with soft pillows and golden skulls. I let my head peer around the rock, and the sight amazed me. It seemed like a whole home down here. There was furniture and decorations and _more_ candles. From where I could see, there was another room attached that held a grand bedroom with a swan-shaped bed. What caught my attention was the massive organ that rested in the center of it all. Sitting on the bench in front of the organ, was a man.

I could only see one side of his face, which seemed to be deep in concentration. It was quite a beautiful sight, really. He was playing a few notes at a time on the organ, and was writing them down on a piece of parchment. He was composing. I tilted my head as I took a step out from behind the rock. I doubted he could see me; he was too deep in focus.

Amazed at the sight, I sat down where I was, not caring that the floor was slightly damp from the lake water. I quietly pulled my sketchbook from my bag, along with a piece of charcoal, and then I began to draw.

I started with his profile, making sure I paid close attention as to how his nose curved slightly at the end. Then, I moved to his eyes, which seemed to be so lost in his music and writing, which I found incredible. I filled in the rest of his features, and shaded his hair. I decided I didn't need to look at him for reference as I worked on his clothing, which consisted of a simple billowy white blouse, and dark pants.

I was working on shading in the folds of his blouse, when I noticed something: it was quiet. It was so silent; it was almost _loud_ in that there was a sharp ringing in my ears. Slowly, I looked up from the yellowing paper in my hands, to see the man, standing tall above his organ, and staring at me.

" _Who are you?"_ He hissed. I could see his entire face, now, and he seemed to be wearing a stark white mask along the right side of his face.

"Sorry, do you live here?" I asked, calmly yet awkwardly as I began to stand up, putting away my sketchbook in the process.

" _Who. Are. You?"_ He asked once more, enunciating each syllable.

"Oh, um, I'm Charlotte. Charlotte Baudin. May I ask your name, monsieur?" I asked, politely.

" _Get out, now."_ He growled, taking a threatening step forwards.

I put my hands up in surrender.

"Sorry," I started, "but why are you down here?" I asked.

"What part of 'Get out now' do you not understand, you foolish girl?" The man bellowed.

"Oh, okay, sorry, I didn't mean to bother you. I guess I'll just be going then." I said, gesturing to the tunnel from which I came. He looked at me, as if he was shocked and confused at what I had just said.

I then decided that he was right, and I was probably acting foolish. I find a secret tunnel that leads me to a man that is living under the opera house, and I asked him what his name was. I decided that it was my cue to leave, so I started to run through the tunnel, and back to the pink room. Quickly sliding the glass open, I stepped from the dark passage, and into the light, laughing while taking deep breaths.

I was definitely coming back.

 **A/N: Oh charlotte... So, what did you guys think? With the Charlotte and Erik interaction, I kind of wanted to show how even though Erik was trying to be menacing, Charlotte was just not phased by it. Did you guys see that? i was going to have Erik run after her with a noose, but i decided that he probably would have caught up with her, so it wouldn't have worked out. So, instead, i just made Erik confused and just being like "what the fuck who is this girl". SO please let me know your thoughts on this chapter/this story in general! I love hearing from you guys!  
Thank you guys so much for reading! I'll see you in the next chapter!  
Don't forget to favourite follow and review!**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: Woah, sorry for disappearing off of the face of the Earth for a while... I'm back though, and hopefully I'll start updating more frequently, but no promises. Enjoy!**

The warm sun was setting over Paris, letting the cold shadows consume the shop corners and alleyways. Unfortunately for me, I was stuck leaning against a rough brick wall in one of those shadows. I had situated myself between the bookshop and the shoemaker, finding it to be one of the "warmer" alleyways.

In the remaining presence of sunlight, I dragged my sketchbook from my bag, and settled it on my knees which were brought to my chest. I must have looked like a crazed woman trying to hide a silly book from the not-very-curious eyes of the public. I had to flip back and forth through the pages in order to find the one yellowing page I truly desired. On it, a rough charcoal sketch lay perfectly motionless, yet all so real. It was only the other night that I had snuck into a strange man's "home" to draw this picture. I tried to finish the drawing as soon as I left the opera house, not wanting the fresh image of the masked man to leave my mind, though I ended up hardly touching his face, afraid I'd make a mistake.

Who was that man though? Why was he beneath the opera house? So many questions filled my head, and I itched to run back to that wonderful opera house and to find the answers to my questions. I paused for a moment, lingering on that thought. Perhaps I could just stop by, and take another look at that mirror. It couldn't hurt, could it? I mean, there was a possibility that that man could have killed me, but I was quick, and I could take care of myself. So, the decision was made: I was going to the Opera House.

It hardly took me a minute to collect my things into my bag, having only taken out my sketchbook and a small, hand-woven, blanket.

The Opera House was only two or three streets away from my location, so I could make it there before the sun completely set behind the horizon.

On the bench in front of the Opera, I observed the guards standing tall at the entrance, prepared to swing open the heavy doors for any audience member, and ready to fight off any unwanted intruders: me. I then noticed a smaller, less grand door to the side of the opera house. A string of drunken-looking actors stumbled from the dimly lit door, all of them singing together in mismatched voices.

Waiting for them to trip their way further down the street, I decided to take action.

By holding myself with a higher posture, and putting more confidence into my steps, I passed off as an actress who was walking back into the opera house for some unimportant reason. I let out a sigh of relief when I reached the door and it was unlocked and unattended.

It took me a few minutes and a few wrong turns to re-orientate myself in the building, and I soon knew where I was going.

As it turned out, it was faster to find the pink room from the side entrance than it was from the main entrance. I made a mental note before swinging the door open, relieved to find it empty once more.

Practically skipping, I made my way towards the mirror, and pressed my hands firmly to the glass, getting ready to push it to the side. Though, when I did push it, nothing happened. I tried again, this time in the opposite direction, but found no movement. This was strange. Perhaps I had imagined the whole thing. Perhaps this masked man was not in fact real and did not live underneath the Paris Opera House. I let out a stressed huff, putting my hands on my hips, and staring at the mirror in frustration. He sealed it didn't he? What an asshole.

Don't get me wrong, if someone found a way into my secret home, I would panic too, and make sure all the entrances were completely sealed. He could have at least left some sort of note, though, asking for me not to come back, or at least _something._ That made another thought come to mind: there had to be more than one entrance. Why would he seal himself in completely?

I froze when I heard footsteps echoing in the hallway outside of the room. I quickly pulled out my sketchbook, and frantically flipped through the pages, finding the sketch of the masked man in record time. I had to take a deep breath before I was able to rip the page out. This was strange for me, as I had never before torn out a page from my sketchbook; I usually kept my drawings to myself, though something told me that the masked man might want this for some odd reason.

I folded the page, being careful not to smudge the charcoal, and tucked the small square in the small gap between the glass of the mirror and the corner of its frame, hoping that he would find it there.

I then lunged myself behind a fainting couch as soon as the mahogany doors swung open, a round head poking through.

"Mademoiselle? Are you in here?" The head swung on its neck a few times to search the room, but when it saw it was empty, it disappeared back into the hallway, the footsteps vanishing with it. Letting out a sigh of relief, I jumped up from behind the couch, made sure my bag was fastened on my shoulder and ran to the door. Before pulling it open, I took one last look back at the mirror. I squinted, looking at the bottom corner of the frame where my drawing had been, but saw that it was already gone.

 **A/N: Ohhh, mysterious... So what did you guys think? Thoughts on the chapter/the story in general? Hopes for the story? Likes, dislikes, favourites, least favourites? i know there's not many chapters to give you the idea of the story, but i LOVE hearing from you guys! Just let me know in the reviews, and don't forget to favourite and follow! Thanks for reading guys, and I'll see you in the next chapter!3**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Here's the next chapter! Sorry this one's kind of short and there's no Erik in here so sorry about that! Don't worry though, there will be plenty of Erik in the chapters to come.**

 **I also wanted to update this story because I wanted to let you all know that I started ANOTHER phantom of the opera fanfic! It's called "Phantoms" (i know, creative right?) and I already have the first two chapters up! So, please go check it out and let me know your thoughts on it! I'll put a description in the A/N at the bottom.**

 **Please don't forget to favourite follow, and review!**

"Oh, Destin! You shouldn't have!" I half-whined to my friend as he pushed a pastry and a warm mug of tea into my hands.

I was sat on a bench about three blocks from Destin's small apartment, though I thought he was working at the Butcher's shop, so I didn't bother visiting him.

"Shouldn't you be at work?" I asked, taking a rather large bite of the flakey pastry.

He chuckled before he sat next to me on the chipped bench. "I took a break." He said simply, taking a deep breath. "Speaking of work…" He trailed off, raising his eyebrow at me. Unfortunately I knew where he was going with this conversation.

"No, Destin. I'm not going to work for you," I said solidly.

"You wouldn't be working _for_ me, you'd be working _with_ me," Destin explained simply, folding his hands in his lap.

"It doesn't matter. Either way I would have to kill animals," I grumbled into my mug tea, which was growing empty. Why did Destin walk three blocks with a hot cup of tea?

"You don't have to kill them if you don't want to, you could just sell the meat. It's quite simple, really."

"But that's still cutting up an animal. How does that not freak you out?" I said, letting the mug rest in my lap.

"Charlotte, you eat meat. You _love it_. And since when are you afraid stuff like that?" He teased.

"It's not the same," I muttered, bringing the mug back to my lips.

There was a comfortable few minutes of silence, where the both of us were left to our own thoughts. I thought about working: what would it be like? No one would hire me because they know I'm "homeless". Besides, my only real talent is art, and no one would buy my sketches.

I decided this would be a nice time to pull out my sketchbook, so I did so, finding my blunt piece of charcoal lying, waiting for me, atop the book itself. A piece of loose paper that I had jammed in-between the pages caught the slow breeze and it quickly floated to the ground. It was a page from my mother's sketchbook. The page landed on the other side of Destin, so I expected him to casually reach down and return the page to me, but instead, he only reached down and stared at it while I patiently held my hand out.

He looked shocked and confused and worried all at once.

"Are you alright, Destin?" I asked, concern knitting itself into my brow.

The disarming emotions immediately left Destin's face, and were replaced with an almost relieved look.

"Yeah, sorry." He handed me the page, and I looked down at it once more before jamming it back into my own sketchbook. "Do you know who that is?" He asked.

The page had a light sketch of a bony looking man. He had a longer face, and sharp cheekbones while his eyes sunk into their sockets. Although he sounded scary and horrifying, he was quite handsome in his own way.

"I think he's my father." I said, looking down at my sketchbook as if he was there staring back up at me. Destin gave me a puzzled look. "My mother drew him a lot towards the beginning of her sketchbook, but there became less and less drawings. My mother had told me once that my father left when he learned she was pregnant with me, and so she never saw him again." I explained.

"Oh, Charlotte, I'm sorry" Destin wrapped his arm around my shoulder.

"It's alright. I never really knew him enough to care about him all that much." I shrugged off the thought.

"Well… Would you ever consider looking for your father?" Destin asked.

I let out a sarcastic laugh, thinking that he was joking but then I saw that he was serious with this suggestion. Why would I look for a father that abandoned my mother, and left her to live and die in the streets? If he stayed or at least _helped_ her, maybe she wouldn't have lost her home, or fallen ill, and maybe she would still be alive. We would be living in an actual house, eating actual food, and living actual lives.

I let out another bitter laugh at the thought. I wouldn't explain this to Destin; he wouldn't understand. I just pushed the now empty mug back into his hands, muttered a quick "thanks," and left.

 **A/N: Ohhhh, some defensiveness from Charlotte... So, what did you guys think? PLEASE let me know in the reviews! I absolutely LOVE hearing from you guys!**

 **Also, if you didn't read the first author's note, I started another POTO fanfic! It's called "Phantoms" and the first two chapters are posted!**

 **Description for Phantoms: Erik is only just recovering from being left by Christine when he notices that he's not the only one haunting the Opera House...**

 **ok so i'm really bad at writing descriptions basically Erik finds this random girl in the opera house that seems to be doing his job for him and he's like what the hell (but i also have the story in the romance genre so...) but please do check it out! i even attempt to write from Eriks perspective!**

 **Thank you all so much! And don't forget to favourite follow, and leave Reviews on this chapter!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello! Okay, first things first, I'd like to clear something up for this story that i apologise for not making it clear enough the first time around: ERIK IS NOT HER DAD. I didn't realise until after i posted the last chapter and after the few reviews i got mentioning it that i had made Charlotte's dad really similar to Leroux Erik which i really did not mean to do. So, this is just me saying that Erik is in no way Charlotte's father, this is just some other scrawny bony guy i promise you (though that probably would have made an interesting story). A wee spoiler alert (not really) this is meant to be a romance story, so i think i would be a really messed up person if Erik was her father. okay okay, just wanted to clear that up, carry on!**

 **Don't forget to favourite follow and review! Thank you guys!333**

The opera house was rather peaceful for a Saturday evening. The reason for this could have been because all the performers were doing their jobs on stage, and the audience members were quietly seated on their velvet chairs, being pleasantly distracted by the act in front of them. I had managed to sneak through that same door that I had before. They really should lock that door, though.

I already knew that the mirror was sealed shut, so I didn't bother going back there. I decided to explore for a bit, perhaps in search of another entrance to that strange man's home. So far, I had found ballrooms ten times the size of the home I used to live in. I found the dormitories for the performers, a studio, and, you guessed it: more ballrooms. And yet, I had found no entrance. The place was so large; it was hard to wrap my mind around the concept of it.

I decided to take a left turn down a slightly darker hallway, finding the shadows to be an easier disguise for myself, as it was quite obvious I was not supposed to be in the building. It stretched on for quite a bit, with doors scattered evenly across each wall, keeping a large distance between each one. It was a rather plain hallway, though something did catch my attention. On the right wall, an intricate yet narrow bookcase was placed directly in the middle of two doors. That was strange, as there seemed to be nothing else in the hallway except for doors.

Excitement bubbled in my chest, sending me practically skipping towards the mahogany structure. This was _too_ easy.

Coming face to face with the bookcase, I examined each shelf, finding them to be composed of four differently sized books, arranged in a pattern. I looked down on each shelf and- _there._ I thought to myself. There was a break in the pattern that sent me leaning down to come nose to nose with the book. This was just like the mystery books that I've read; how had no one else noticed?

I grabbed the dusty spine with two fingers, and pulled it towards me, first hearing a _click,_ and then a light _thud._ I smiled and took a step back, examining my work. The bookshelf had popped out by a few inches, allowing my to slip my fingers between the wall and the shelf, and pull it open like a door. And, as I had expected, I was met with another dark and damp tunnel. I had to stifle my light giggle before I stepped inside.

Although I thought I was lost multiple times, I eventually found that warm light at the end of the tunnel, this time coming from a different angle of the strange man's home. I was directly across from where I first entered, seeing the sight from a whole new perspective. And, there he was.

From this side, I could only see his stark white mask that lay on the side of his face. He seemed to be composing again. I stepped out from the tunnel, and into his home, and waited a few moments, before clearing my throat.

The man stood up and spun around before I could blink my eyes.

"You again." He hissed at me.

"Hello!" I said cheerily in a poor attempt at calming him down.

"Why are you here?" He said, as if he was trying to suppress a loud shout. Before I could even answer, he began to speak again. " _Leave!"_ There was that loud roar I was expecting. "You are _very_ lucky you made it out of here alive the first time, don't think that you'll be able to do it again," He sneered as he began to take steps forwards.

"Hey, I only have a few questions. Please," I said, letting go of the strap of my bag, and holding my hands up in the air in surrender, "And plus," I added, "I have friends that know I'm down here, and that would not hesitate summoning the police if I suddenly go missing." I warned. I mean, there was only Destin, but I knew he would do the same. Besides, I think I knew he knew I was here again. He had asked me to join him for lunch that day, but I told him I had "business to attend to," which he just giggled at.

"Was that a threat?" The masked man laughed.

"Maybe." I replied, crossing my arms across my chest. Now, the man was only a few feet away from me. He was so close; I could see all the details that I had missed in my drawing.

"Really, all I want to do is ask you a few questions. I won't tell anyone else about this, I promise," I pleaded.

He squinted at me, perhaps weighing his options. From what it looked like, this man was definitely not supposed to be down here, and he would be in copious amounts of trouble if anyone found out. If all he had to do was answer a few questions to make me shut up, then why not cooperate?

"One question," He said, as if that phrase in itself was a threat.

"Oh come on, I deserve _ten,"_ I countered.

"Three."

"Eight."

"Four."

"Six."

"Five."

"Fine," I sighed. With the confidence building in me, I pushed passed him, and took a seat on one of two chairs placed at a cluttered table.

He let out a breath as if he was in shock of my behavior, and it looked like he was still considering killing me. But, he took the other seat that was placed on the opposite side of the table and crossed his arms defensively and threateningly.

I pushed some of the music compositions and books that were in front of me to give me a few inches of space. I dug into my bag, and pulled out my sketchbook, feeling the man's eyes burn into my head every second. After opening up to a blank page, and feeling the piece of charcoal for a sharper end, I looked up to him and smiled.

"Question number one: what's your name?" I turned down to look at the blank page while I waited for an answer, and began making another drawing of him.

"I can't tell you that," He grumbled.

I let out a light laugh before tearing my eyes from the page to look at him.

"Oh, come on. You can at _least_ tell me your first name. I believe I already introduced myself: I'm Charlotte."

He stared at me for another moment, thinking through his words. This man does too much planning.

"Erik," he said through his teeth.

"Pleasure to meet you, Erik." I smiled before leaning over the short table with my hand outstretched, ready to shake his. He only stared at it before letting out a short chuckle, and turning away.

I sighed, and retreated back to my chair and my sketchbook.

"Question two," I began, shading his eyes.

"What are you doing?" He asked, trying to lean over the table to look at what was on my sketchbook.

"Oh, are you playing too?" I asked teasingly, "I'm drawing," I replied.

"What are you drawing?" He asked.

"Whoa there, you're really burning through your five questions, aren't you?" I smiled and paused for a moment before responding, "You."

He looked shocked for a moment, and then confused as he let his brow push down to create more shadows under his eyes. It was an interesting pose. Not interesting as in strange, but interesting as in mysterious and full of expression. I turned to the page next to my original drawing and began a second one right away, wanting to capture this expression.

"Why?" He asked. He seemed to be getting more and more shy with his questions, like he was afraid of showing too much interest with his curiosity.

"Because I think you're interesting," I replied simply as I continued to look down at my page. I felt his gaze on me for a while longer after I responded, and I wondered why he was watching me. I looked up at him to meet his eye.

"Why are you staring at me?" I squinted.

"Because I think you're interesting," he smirked. _There he is._ I thought to myself as I let the satisfaction of breaking the ice with Erik wash over me.

"You know," I began, looking down again to watch my shading, "you're not as hard to talk to as I thought it was going to be."

He paused for another moment, making that interesting face again, before continuing to speak. "Next question. I believe you're on number three."

"Hey, no I'm not! If I'm on number three, then you're on number four," I pointed out.

"Fine, question number two," he replied. _Whoa, so he wants to ask_ me _questions. Maybe he just wants to agree with everything I say to make me leave faster._

"Why do you live down here?"

"To avoid the hatred of the human race," he responded after a moment.

"Well, that was intense," I muttered in response, looking up to meet his eyes. "Why do you believe the human race is full of hatred?"

"Why do you think I wear a mask?" he replied.

"Well, that brings me to my third question…" I trailed off, letting him reply.

"My answer for your third question is the exact same as my answer to your second question," he said almost sadly. Now, it was my turn to make that interesting expression. What could have been so bad that he believed he needed to cover it up with a mask, and to hide in a cave stories beneath Paris?

"May I see your full face?" I asked.

"Ah, you see, you just wasted your fourth question, dear Charlotte, as that is something I cannot ever show you." He averted his eyes to the compositions that lay on the table.

"Why not?" I asked.

"Do you really want to waste your last question on that?"

"Well, my guess is you're going to say 'it's because of the hatred of humanity,' or something of the sorts, but there _must_ be more than that," I insisted.

"How do you know?" He questioned.

"Well something must have happened to make you think this way, right? So, what happened? Why can't I see your face?"

There was a long pause of silence, only the sound of light waves gently rocking the boat, and caressing the small shore.

"That is a long story, perhaps for another time," He said, standing up, and straightening his jacket.

"So I'll see you again?" I asked excitedly.

"Perhaps," he smirked.

 **A/N: Heyy! we get some conversation between Erik and Charlotte! So, what did you guys think of this chapter? i know it's pretty unrealistic of Erik not to kill her, and that's why i tried to show some reasoning behind it, but hey it works with the plot so just roll with it;) Anyways, i'm pretty excited to write more chapters with these two, and to get more into the plot! I hope you guys enjoyed, and PLEASE let me know what you guys thought in the reviews! I really do love hearing from you guys and any feedback helps (just please be nice3)!**

 **Thanks again for reading! Don't forget to favourite follow and review!**


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